


Baker Street Irregularities

by thechestofsilver



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Baker Street, Children, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas at Baker Street, Christmas in London, First Kiss, Holmes in a mood, Holmes is being ridiculous, M/M, Mistletoe, Mrs Hudson is caring, Snow, Snowball Fight, Watson has been away on business, Watson is jolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechestofsilver/pseuds/thechestofsilver
Summary: Watson is eager to celebrate Christmas after having been away on business. Holmes is being secretive, and Mrs Hudson knows what is up as always.





	Baker Street Irregularities

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Holmesian Holidays Christmas calendar on Tumblr. I wish you all a Merry Christmas! ♥

It was just after noon when the cab made a final turn on Baker Street and I gratefully laid my eyes on the familiar black door of 221b. Last time I had seen it, the street had been dark with rain and the golden numbers barely visible, illuminated only by a faint light from the hanging lamp by the door. Now they glistened in the midday sunshine – a most welcome sight after a morning of uninterrupted travelling – and I let out a content sigh. For thirteen days I had been away, tending to an old friend who had fallen ill. His manor was situated in a vast part of the countryside and the trip was not a pleasant one – yet, I had not hesitated when the family called on me for help, for the man had always been very kind to me in my youth. I had left almost instantly, set on being away for a few days’ time, but the illness had proved to be a stubborn one and my stay was prolonged until I selfishly began to worry that I would not be back in London in time for Christmas. To our joint relief the man had finally come out of his delirium on the morning of the 23rd, and after assuring that the worst really had passed I made arrangements to travel home on the following morning. It was not that my stay had been unpleasant in any way beside the case of the illness. The family was a most loving one, and good company in every way; but as the holiday grew nearer I found myself longing more each day for the comfort of my own home, and for the company of my own loving family – small and odd as it may be. My belief was strong that Christmas should be spent in the home where one’s heart is, and to me, that was Baker Street.

The cold air hit me as I stepped out of the cab, fresh and still, with a few shy flakes falling from a thin coat of clouds, one that could not stop the midwinter sun from shining through. I raised my gaze to our windows and felt a thrill of joy at the thought of what lay behind them. With a great smile on my face I gathered my belongings – there were quite a few, since my hosts had insisted on sending a number of gifts and decorations with me, among them a grand wreath that was likely to take up half the door – and made my way up the steps. It took me a few moments to manage with the key (the parcels and the wreath presented some difficulty) but at last the door opened and I was able to step into the warmth of the hallway. The familiar smell was blended with one of soap and vinegar, and to my delight I noticed that Mrs Hudson had decorated the banister with holly and ribbons.

“Mrs Hudson?” I called giddily. “I’m home!”

She appeared almost instantly from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

“Oh Doctor,” she said delightedly, “how wonderful! We began to worry you’d be gone all Christmas! I hope you haven’t had too much trouble, out there.”

“Not at all,” I assured. “The Brownings are delightful people. However, I could not be happier to be home again.”

She pointed at my extensive packing.

“Now what is all this?”

“Oh, the dear Mrs Browning insisted on providing me with… well, a little bit of everything, seeing as I would come home so close to Christmas. I was thinking” – I held up the wreath – “we should hang this on the front door. And there is a small pudding in that parcel there and – oh, what is this?”

I retrieved a small branch with white berries from one of the boxes and playfully concealed it behind my back as I straightened; then I held it up high towards the light so that Mrs Hudson was forced to look up, upon which I quickly kissed her on the cheek. She laughed with surprise.

“Oh, Doctor,” she said bashfully, “you’re making me blush!”

I laughed at her ill-hidden joy.

“Where is Holmes? Is he up?”

“Oh, I believe he is still in his room. Slept til’ noon all week, he has.”

“Hm.”

I looked with some concern in the direction of the first floor. I had not heard much from Holmes during my absence, and I was very unsure of the state of mind I should find him in. Mrs Hudson followed my gaze and gave me a meaningful look.

“I am sure you need some refreshments after the trip, Doctor. You go up and make yourself comfortable, and I shall soon bring up a pot of tea and some sandwiches.”

“Coffee please, Mrs Hudson,” I said. “I was up awfully early this morning.”

“As you wish,” she smiled and disappeared into the kitchen once more.

Upstairs, I found the sitting room empty indeed. I unloaded my things on the desk and removed my jacket, and after washing up a bit I sat down to enjoy the refreshments that Mrs Hudson so swiftly had brought up, letting the apprehensions from packed trains and crowded platforms fade away as the soothing feeling of home embraced me. When I had finished I looked around. The room was much as I had left it two weeks ago, however I suspected a touch of Mrs Hudson’s Christmas cleaning here and there. Remembering the parcels on my desk, I felt a sudden rush of jolliness, and decided to decorate a bit on my own.

The clock had just struck half past one and I was in the process of tying the mistletoe to the ceiling light, when the door to Holmes’s bedroom opened and he entered, swept in his dressing gown and with his hair on end. He stopped at the sight of me.

“Watson!” he said, apparently surprised to see me. Then he took another look and added: “Whatever are you doing?”

“Good-day to you too, Holmes,” I replied cheerily. “I trust you have slept well?”

He mumbled and crossed the room to the fireplace, where he picked up his pipe, and lit it with eyes diverting at me under lowered lashes.

“So,” he said casually. “How was your… stay?”

“Pleasant enough,” I answered. “Mr Browning’s family is a very loving one.”

I secured the bow and stepped down from the stool to admire the result.

“What is that?”

Holmes was leaning against the mantelpiece, pipe in hand and squinting eyes fast upon the lovely little branch. I laughed at his suspiciousness.

“Well Holmes, I think you know very well what it is.”

“That does not explain its presence in our sitting room.”

“Why, it’s Christmas, Holmes! I hope you haven’t been so occupied as to forget that!”

He mumbled something unintelligible before disappearing behind a cloud of smoke. I moved on with my decorating, and for some minutes the room was quiet as for the sound of paper as I unpacked the next parcel. Now and again I cast a glance at Holmes who remained in the same position, gazing into space. Despite his impish behaviour, the vision of him was a most peaceful one. Sunbeams from the window had found their way to the mantelpiece and were falling gently on his figure, making the silk threads in the dressing gown glow like silver. The few bright hairs on his head caught the light much in the same fashion, and the lines on his face seemed smoothened. I was still unsure about the state of his mind and how well he had coped in my absence, but he did look healthy enough – in fact, his skin appeared unusually radiant – and I decided to leave it be for the moment. At length however, I looked up to find his keen eyes on me with a soft glimmer in them. I smiled and said, half-mockingly:

“I don’t suppose you would care to help me?”

He looked intently on me and on the garland that I was presently attempting to fasten to the bookcase. Then he pursed his lips, lifted his chin and said with an air of importance:

“I trust you have the matter under control, Watson.”

I chuckled and shook my head.

“Very well,” I said. “But I will not hesitate to call on your assistance if this garland decides to revolt against me.”

He failed to hide a smile, and instead put the pipe back in his mouth. I grinned and continued with my task.

“So, Holmes,” I said lightly. “Have there been any clients in my absence? Any cases?”

The extended silence made me turn around again. He was looking fixedly at me, as if to decide upon a course of action.

“No,” he finally replied. “Nothing of importance.”

“And how have you been?”

I could not entirely hide the concern behind the question, and it was met with another long glance; then he looked away and replied airily:

“Good, Watson.”

His tone told me otherwise. I decided to confront him – but at that very moment, the door opened and Mrs Hudson entered with a bundle of envelopes in her hand.

“Christmas cards for you, a whole heap of them – one of them has a most peculiar coat of arms in the seal – the number seem to increase each year… Oh Mr Holmes, I see you found your way out of bed after all. I’ll just put these here and – are you finished, Doctor? I’ll take the tray then. And… Oh! How lovely you have decorated, Doctor Watson!”

She stopped to admire my handiwork for a second, beaming like a child. Then she turned to Holmes and pointed a finger at him.

“Now I told you, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did, Mrs Hudson,” Holmes said reluctantly.

I looked from one to the other. Mrs Hudson had that special motherly look upon her face that was saved for Holmes alone; he had tensed up and was suddenly extremely focused on his pipe.

“You told him what?” I said curiously.

“Oh,” Mrs Hudson said as she started gathering the dishes from the dining table and putting them on the tray, “Mr Holmes has not been in the brightest of moods lately, and I just told him that – oh, what is it now?”

The doorbell had rung and continued to do so while Mrs Hudson abandoned the tray on the table and went back down the stairs, leaving the question unanswered. I looked at Holmes.

“So,” I said tentatively. “Not in the brightest of moods? Holmes, if you – “

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, dismissingly waving his hand, but not meeting my eye. “I have been rather occupied. In fact… Ah! Right on time.”

Indeed, voices were heard below. Seconds later hurried steps sounded on the stairs and the very next moment a young boy tumbled into the sitting room. His cheeks were red and his eyes bright under the grey cap he had not cared to remove upon his entrance. A long scarf was carelessly thrown around his thin neck, dangling all the way to the floor.

 “Mister Holmes! Mister Holmes!” he cried. “It is happening again!”

Holmes had already put down his pipe and abandoned the dressing gown on the sofa.

“Then there is not a minute to lose!” he yelled as he grabbed his overcoat. “Hurry up, boy!”

And before I had time to neither react nor speak, they were both down the stairs and out the door. I was still standing dumb-struck when Mrs Hudson re-entered the room.

“What the devil was that about?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“It’s been going on all week, it has. At least Mr Holmes has been keeping busy – Lord knows I worry more about him when he’s tucked up in his room than when he’s out and about.” She turned away and continued where she had left off at the table.

“But what is it? Something serious?”

“Oh, a very serious business indeed. And right here on our street, too.”

I put down the garland.

“Well, why didn’t he say something? I am sure I could be of help?”

“I suppose he didn’t want to worry you, Doctor”.

Her voice sounded oddly muffled. Worry began to grip at me.

“That is nonsense,” I said. “I shall go to him immediately, if it’s that serious. Will I find him outside?”

“I’m sure of it”, Mrs Hudson replied, still refusing to look at me. “Just be careful, Doctor.”

Without another moment of delay I grabbed my overcoat and put it on as I hurried down the stairs, filled with apprehension and a rising irritation at all the secrecy. Whatever was going on, Holmes should know better by now than to leave me in the dark. By the door I quickly wrapped a scarf around my neck and put on my hat, before bursting the door open and stepping out on the snow covered street. The sunshine reflecting in the crystals on the ground hit me right in the face, and for a moment I could only stand blinking as my eyes adjusted. Then a cry was heard from the right and I started towards it without hesitation – but froze in the middle of a step by the mere surprise of the scene in front of me.

At least a dozen children occupied the area between our door, the street, and the closest alley. They were running back and forth, laughing and screaming, throwing snow at each other and slipping around while trying their best not to get hit themselves. A grand fortress had been built – that was obviously the object of the battle – and in the middle of it stood Sherlock Holmes, with his hat covered in white and his gloved hands carefully forming a ball of snow. He ducked as the fortress was hit by another cascade.

“Watch it, Harry!” he yelled. “Laura, for God’s sake, cover me while I make ammunition!”

A wave of relief followed my surprise, and then I leaned on the railings and laughed heartily at the sight. So this was the serious case! Holmes caught sight of me where I stood and waved eagerly.

“Watson! We could use another hand here!”

“Thanks, Holmes,” I shouted after catching my breath, “but I’ve had my share of the battlefield. I’ll just oversee the action from here!”

And so I sat down on the steps to our door and spent a good hour watching the most vivid and wild fight that Baker Street had ever seen. Holmes and Laura – a girl of about twelve that I recognised as the grocer’s daughter – were bravely leading the defence of the fortress with the assistance of some younger children, among them the boy that had rushed into our sitting room earlier. The other side were fighting with equal force, determined to overtake what – as far as I understood it – had been theirs the previous day. The two armies were a blend of children of various ages, and I recognised a number of the so-called Irregulars as well as children from the neighbourhood. As I was sitting there, a small girl of about six confidently walked up and asked if she could join me.

“You see Mister,” she said soberly and with a heavy lisp, “I don’t like to fight, but I think I should be here all the same, in case something happens and I can be of help.”

Her blue eyes were big and earnest. I smiled at her.

“You and me same,” I said and, revealing a big gap where two front teeth soon should be growing out, she returned the smile and crawled up in my lap. The girl revealed herself to be Laura’s younger sister, and together we followed the fight with great excitement. We cheered on our comrades, shouted warnings when needed, and applauded enthusiastically when the enemy at last surrendered and our brave soldiers could claim victory. We greeted them like heroes as they left the fortress, looking tired and very pleased with themselves. I proudly brushed the snow off Holmes’s coat and hat before we merrily bid the youngsters good-bye and returned to the comfort of our warm rooms.

\----  ----  ----

In the evening we enjoyed a wonderful dinner prepared by Mrs Hudson, and afterwards Holmes offered to play some traditional tunes on the Strad. I contentedly sat back in my chair, warm and drowsy, and watched him lowering and raising his bow. His eyes were closed and his features, soft in the dim candlelight, followed the music with subtle expressions; a raising of the brows, a wrinkle on the forehead, a smile playing on his thin lips. I watched him happily and could not help but think of the way he had looked out in the snow earlier, with a boyish smile on his face and his eyes bright with mischief. I smiled fondly at the memory, and was still doing so when he finished the piece and turned to me.

“You know,” I sighed, “you never cease to amaze me, Holmes.”

He bent down to place the violin on the side table, but neither that nor the dimness of the room could conceal the sudden flush on his cheeks. At the sight my fondness for the man rose to an almost ridiculous level; and perhaps it was the effect of the hot punch Mrs Hudson had served after dinner or simply the mere bliss of the holiday that was getting a hold of my heart, but, acting on an impulse, I reached out and took one of his delicate hands in mine. His eyes grew wide as I gently stroke his long fingers and looked up at him, letting all of my affection show. Then the image of him ducking for cover while being bombarded with snow popped into my mind, and I burst into another fit of laughter.

“What is it?” Holmes asked with a surprised grin.

I pressed his hand and tried to compose myself.

“I’m sorry Holmes,” I said, “I’m just happy you were able to occupy yourself during my absence.”

His eyes glittered.

“Well, you know what they say – Christmas is for the children.”

“And I believe it brings out the child in all of us,” I added. “I don’t think it would be untrue to say that you were enjoying yourself as much as anyone out there, if not more.”

“I suppose I did give in to some… whimsicalities.”

I laughed.

“That is the spirit of Christmas. It is a time for whimsy, and for folly… for irregularities.”

As if to prove my point, I lowered my gaze to our hands and gently intertwined our fingers. Carefully I stroked my thumb against the back of his hand, and we were comfortably silent for a few moments. Then suddenly I remembered.

“What was it, by the way?”

“What was what?”

I looked up.

“That Mrs Hudson told you?”

“Oh.” He laughed a little, and I noticed the colour rising on his cheeks again. “Only that she was certain that you would return before Christmas to ‘make everything merry and bright.’ I’m afraid I was being extremely difficult.” He paused. “I must confess, I have been feeling rather sentimental these past few days, and I was happy to see that she was right.”

He did not divert his eyes this time, but held my gaze almost defiantly. Reassuringly, I tugged on his hand to pull him closer and said:

“Then I can confess that I wanted nothing more than to return home to you, my dear fellow.”

The earnest way in which his eyes lit up sent a bolt of joy through my heart. For some moments we looked at each other, until a different notion came over me and I yawned involuntarily. Holmes chuckled and dragged me to my feet.

“I have kept you up too late, dear Doctor. I forgot that you started the day early.”

“I suppose it is time to retire”, I said and shook my head a little.

I looked up to say good-night, upon which I made an observation that had me smiling again. Holmes followed my gaze to the ceiling light above us, where the small branch of mistletoe was fastened. When his lips curled into an amused smile I decided upon one last whim for the night: I lifted my hand and put it gently on his cheek, and when he lowered his gaze, I pressed my lips firmly to his. He relaxed under my touch, and when I pulled away his eyes were closed.

“Good-night, Holmes,” I whispered.

His eyes fluttered open.

“Merry Christmas, Watson,” he said warmly.


End file.
